


Literally Just Fucking

by lecturience



Category: Naruto
Genre: 10 Percent Arguing, 90 Percent Sex, Casual Sex, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, M/M, No Strings, One Shot, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecturience/pseuds/lecturience
Summary: It was a terrible cliché, the idea that passion of one kind lent to passion of another—but one moment Madara and Tobirama were arguing, and the next, clothes were being torn off.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 53
Kudos: 251





	Literally Just Fucking

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on what was _supposed_ to be my smuttiest MadaTobi smut yet (a circus fic—don’t worry, it’ll make sense when I eventually post) but I’ve written almost 10k and _no sex_. How!? I’m equal parts excited (because plot! that rarely happens) and frustrated, so _this_ fic is me working out the frustration with a short burst of pure, plotless, smutty goodness. Enjoy?

It was a terrible cliché, the idea that passion of one kind lent to passion of another. Generally, if two people were always arguing, it was simply that they didn’t get along, _not_ a sign of unresolved sexual tension. That said, the more Madara argued with Tobirama—the more the man failed to quail at his temper as so many did, instead lifting his chin and arguing back, and always with such sharp wit that the arguments became like a spar of words, a _dance_ —the more Madara _wanted_ him.

The problem was, he didn’t have a clue whether his lust was reciprocated.

Sometimes, when Madara got in a particularly good shot, wielded a _particularly_ insightful comeback, Tobirama got a glint in his eye, and Madara thought _maybe_ … But Tobirama was perhaps the most self-controlled man he’d ever met. Cold, some said, but Madara didn’t think so—a cold man wouldn’t step close and argue with Madara till they were both flushed and snarling. No, not cold, just… guarded. Always with a mask up to hide any hint of vulnerability, making it all but impossible to tell if Tobirama would be receptive to Madara’s _interest_.

The day the tension finally broke, they were in Tobirama’s office, arguing yet again. To his frustration, Madara would never remember what exactly he’d said that so impressed Tobirama that the man paused, eyes actually widening a little and mouth a tiny bit ajar. Madara couldn’t help but sway closer, eyes flitting to parted lips, and suddenly there was a hand fisted in the front of his shirt and he was being dragged in for a heated kiss.

It was over as quickly as it started. Tobirama shoved away, turning on his heel and striding quickly to the other side of the office before Madara could even think to respond. But _not_ before Madara got a glimpse of the expression on Tobirama’s face—mask fractured just enough to reveal dark, hungry depths. There had been nothing soft there—no unrequited love or anything so saccharine—just a raw sexual need to match Madara’s own.

Tobirama ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Shit, I didn’t mean—” He took a deep breath, back a stiff line as he spoke. “I apologise, Uchiha. That was inappropriate of me.”

Madara could almost _feel_ Tobirama’s mask reassembling. But he’d finally moved past shock enough to realise that _Tobirama wanted to fuck him too_ , and hell if he was letting _that_ go. He couldn’t let the man tamp down that desperate lust, because if he did, there might never be another chance and—

Madara maybe panicked, quickly striding across the room, spinning the man around, and dragging him down for another kiss. A _mutual_ one this time—passion returned for passion.

When they finally drew apart, panting and half hard, Tobirama stared at him consideringly, like Madara was one of his fascinating experiments—which should probably have terrified Madara more than turned him on, because some of Tobirama’s experiments were fucking horrifying, but Madara’s dick had other ideas—and then his expression… _eased_ somehow. Less the mask coming down, and more like he’d let something through.

“I do wish you’d mentioned this sooner,” Tobirama said, faintly disapproving like _Madara_ was the one in the wrong—what the hell?—but he was also impatiently tugging Madara’s shirt up and off. “We could have been doing this for _ages_.”

Madara rolled his eyes—hard. “ _You’re_ the one going around being impossible to read, Senju. How the fuck was I to know you wouldn’t just kill me for— for being ‘inappropriate’?” And then he tore Tobirama’s shirt off.

Tobirama just curled his lip disdainfully. Like always, it made Madara alternately want to snarl, to argue, but also to _bite it_ , and— Wait, he could _do that_ now. So he did. Tobirama hissed and bit back, and they were briefly distracted by trying to outdo one another, leaving both their mouths flushed-red, swollen messes. At some point Madara gathered enough focus to reach for Tobirama’s pants, but not enough to undo them, so he settled for yanking till the button popped off. Tobirama gave him an annoyed glare.

“Like you could do better right now?” Madara snapped.

Tobirama… he _smirked_ —holy fuck since when could he _do_ that?—and then he _dropped to his knees_. Madara’s brain was already mostly devoid of coherent thought. When Tobirama delicately, skilfully unbuttoned and opened his trousers with his _teeth_ , Madara’s mind blanked for a moment, as if all blood flow had been redirected from brain to cock. He fell back against the desk behind him, hands gripping the edge so tight his knuckles turned white.

Was Tobirama—? Was he actually going to—?

Pretty, kiss-swollen lips stretched round the head of Madara’s cock and he shuddered. He _was_. He was really—

Madara choked out a “ _Fuck_ ” as Tobirama sucked, head bobbing then drawing back. He lifted one hand so a firm thumb could trace a teasing line underneath Madara’s cock, from tip to base, then curled long, elegant fingers around it properly, stroking what his mouth didn’t reach. Madara’s head tipped back, gasping for breath. He immediately snapped his gaze back down though, because _fuck_ , he wanted to see every _second_ of this, of Tobirama looking up at him through pale lashes which fluttered as he sucked, humming like he was savouring the taste.

This was all his most vivid fantasies about the frustrating Senju brought to life, and if he didn’t think it’d send the man running, Madara would activate his Sharingan and _burn_ the sight into his memory.

At the feeling of a hand skimming up his inner thigh, Madara widened his stance.

Tobirama pulled back just long enough to say, “Top drawer, right side—I’ve a bottle of sun lotion.”

Madara leaned back, hand reaching behind the desk, tearing the drawer open and almost sending it flying—but he didn’t, thank fuck, so he didn’t have to move and Tobirama’s mouth could _keep doing that_ —then scrambled around till he found a bottle amidst the other odds and ends. He shoved it into Tobirama’s hands and spread his legs further. There was the quiet sound of a lid being unscrewed, and then slick fingers pressed up into Madara’s crease, found his hole, and pushed inside.

His thighs trembled as Tobirama found _exactly_ the right spot, and matched the thrusting of his curled fingers with the bobbing of his head. He only paused once, to slick his fingers further and push in a third, and then he was back at it, so intense that Madara realised it wasn’t just prepping—Tobirama meant to make him come like this.

Fuck. Okay. No arguments here.

(Hah! First time he ever thought _that_ in regards to the infuriating Senju.)

Gasping as pleasure wound tighter and tighter, Madara leaned back on his palms, staring down past his clenching stomach. Tobirama looked up. Met his gaze. Held it with that same air of challenge as all their most heated arguments.

And that was _it_.

With a strangled moan, Madara came, eyes wide, neither looking away.

Tobirama’s tongue softly licked up every stray trace of come, making Madara twitch, and his fingers were still gently flexing inside him. Between the two, it took long moments for Madara to catch his breath. When he was sure his knees wouldn’t shame him by giving out, Madara shifted, and Tobirama finally withdrew, shuffling back and standing. Madara grabbed his wrist, ignoring the questioning sound in favour of dragging the man behind his desk, shoving him into his chair, and throwing a leg over his thigh to straddle his lap.

Tobirama was a smart man—it didn’t take him long to figure it out. And judging by the way he sucked in a sharp breath and gripped Madara’s hip with one hand to guide him down, the other wiping the remains of slick on his own cock, Tobirama was _one hundred percent_ in favour of Madara’s plan.

Madara groaned as he lowered himself onto Tobirama’s dick—even prettier than his mouth. He wouldn’t be coming again anytime soon, but it still felt _good_ , indulgent. Almost as good as it would feel to see the look on Tobirama’s face as he broke. Him. _Apart_.

Grinning, all feral promise that made Tobirama’s hands clench at his hips, Madara planted his feet flat on the floor and rose up slowly, _gradually_ … then let himself _drop_. It punched a groan out of them both, so he did it again. Tobirama was near the edge, had been from the start—from _sucking Madara off_ , and _fuck_ was that hot—and he’d been so generous before that Madara decided not to taunt him by dragging it out, instead quickly working up to a frantic rhythm.

He was going to be feeling this for days, but it was so worth it to have Tobirama panting under him, voice strained and shaky, cheeks flushed. Madara grabbed for the back of the chair and leaned down to kiss him, biting at already swollen lips, and Tobirama threaded one hand through Madara’s hair, tugging him close, kissing back desperately until suddenly—

Tobirama _froze_ , falling silent for one long, breathless moment.

Then sound and movement returned as he _shook_ and cried out his release against Madara’s lips.

Madara kissed him through it, less biting, but not exactly tender—theirs was not a relationship that welcomed that, even now. But still, looking down at Tobirama’s dazed eyes, the soft line of his body, the way his mouth parted so easily for Madara—to see this man, always so composed and aloof, utterly cracked open this way and to know it was because of _Madara_ —was…

Fuck, it was a high all its own.

“We are _definitely_ making a habit of this,” Madara blurted without thought, then cringed. Because yes, he _absolutely_ wanted to reduce Tobirama to such a state again—repeatedly—but there was an about even chance the man would either misinterpret that as some sort of _feelings_ thing, which could only end awkwardly one way or another, or else he’d take offence at Madara’s demanding phrasing and refuse out of spite.

Fortunately for his pride’s sake, Tobirama didn’t misinterpret. And fortunately for his future sex life, Tobirama was apparently too blissed out to realise Madara’s poor choice of words.

Better yet, he hummed and nodded.

“I wouldn’t object to doing this again,” Tobirama agreed. Then he glanced over at the documents on his desk—the ones which had sparked the argument that led to all of this—and said, “You’re still wrong though.”

The truth was, Madara didn’t even remember what the argument had been _about_. But that didn’t matter—not even the fact that Madara was still naked and impaled on Tobirama’s slowly softening cock mattered—because it would be a _cold_ day in hell before Madara backed down without a fight, no matter _how_ well fucked he’d been.

And so he leaned into Tobirama’s face, with a snarled, “The _fuck_ did you say!?”

**Author's Note:**

> Readers, I have a _deep and meaningful_ question to pose to you all: ‘dick’ or ‘cock’? No, really, which do you prefer to read when you sit down for some smut? Also, is there a good, smutty alternative to ‘vagina’ that isn’t cringy? This feels like the sort of fic where I can ask these questions. I’d love to hear your preferred porny terms for other body parts too—what works, what doesn’t, and what’s hilarious but maybe not a good idea? (Let’s call it market research!)


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